


do you really want to know?

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, jaskier isn't human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt parted the trees, stepping through. He could smell it in the air: fear, so strong it was almost dizzying. Finally, after weeks of searching, he was close. The Collectors had garnered quite a reputation for themselves, for kidnapping beasts, sentient or not, and selling them or their body parts for fast money. No one had paid him to take care of them, obviously. Humans didn’t care that beasts were being tortured and violated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 648





	do you really want to know?

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Geralt parted the trees, stepping through. He could smell it in the air: fear, so strong it was almost dizzying. Finally, after weeks of searching, he was close. The Collectors had garnered quite a reputation for themselves, for kidnapping beasts, sentient or not, and selling them or their body parts for fast money. No one had paid him to take care of them, obviously. _Humans_ didn’t care that beasts were being tortured and violated.

He _pretended_ he didn’t care, or that he didn’t have feelings, not because it was true but because it was convenient. But there was no ignoring this, not when he had met and even befriended _many_ monsters over the decades.

Killing violent beasts, to protect oneself and others, was one thing. _Selling_ them, treating them like property, was just sick and unjust.

Finding them hadn’t been easy, of course. The Collectors weren’t _fools_. They knew what they were doing; they changed locations a lot, silenced folks with money. Every time he picked up on their scent, they somehow knew, probably had spies in the cities and towns he visited. When he arrived at the location, it was always empty.

He knew they had been there though, by the putrid smell of fear in the air, still lingering.

 _This_ fear though… it was different, fresher, stronger. Geralt followed it quietly, parting trees and looking for any traps. They seemed confident, almost _too_ confident after months of running their operation with no interference. Because no one cared if beasts were being killed, even the innocent ones. It wasn’t their problem. They weren’t humans.

There were no traps. Nobody waiting for him when he arrived at the door in the ground, covered pitifully with twigs and dirt. He pushed it all away with his boot, revealing the door, concrete and covered in thick moss. It was quiet, eerily so.

He didn’t know the details of the business, obviously. Just that they kidnapped creatures, sold some of them as they were, depending on their worth, or did terrible, horrid things. Like cutting off their wings or pulling their teeth.

Geralt’s skin was hot with anger. _He wanted to kill them all._ He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do but it was what they deserved for being so heartless and selfish. He had done a lot of morally corrupt things for money but there was still a limit, always would be.

Killing without a reason was inexcusable.

Shaking his head, he unsheathed his sword. His sword always had a way of grounding him, heavy in his hand, a reminder that he was in control of himself. Kneeling, he grabbed the edge of the door and opened it. He heard, more than saw, chains as they clattered to the floor of the basement, falling from the door.

He heard more clanking, and finally footsteps.

Steeling himself, he jumped down and landed heavily on the floor. A few men, all carrying their own swords, appeared from around a corner.

“Who are you?” one of them barked, swinging his sword almost comically.

Perhaps he had overestimated them.

Geralt pointed his sword at him. “You will die,” he said, perfectly even, “for what you’ve done.”

Without replying, all of the men charged him. It was about six of them. Geralt danced between them, gracefully avoiding their swords. They weren’t bad swordsmen, certainly, but they were lacking. Geralt swung his sword, again and again, spinning on his heels and ducking under blades.

Finally the last body fell with a _thud_ , echoing down the concrete hallway.

Turning, he cut his sword through the air, blood splattering across the ground. “Who else is there?” he asked the empty hallway, even as he advanced, walking slowly. “That wasn’t all of you. You can’t trick me so easily.”

Geralt reached the first door, cracked just an inch. Smiling nastily, he kicked the door.

He was ambushed by at least a dozen men.

Geralt could _feel_ them, _hear_ them, at least a hundred beasts, not far down the hallway. He could hear their breathing and their sobbing and their whining. Nostrils flaring, he spun and stabbed his sword through the heart of a man.

He slumped on the blade, coughing blood, and he threw him off without an ounce of remorse. They deserved it, all of them.

*

Jaskier was one of many, caged up in the large room at the end of the hallway. The cages were barely big enough for _him_ , nevertheless the much larger beasts.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, glancing around for confirmation that he wasn’t, _finally_ , losing his mind after months of this. He had been waiting for the day, frankly.

There was no point in asking. None of the beasts, at the moment, were sentient. The few that had been, like him, had been taken away.

There was a loud bang and he startled, scrambling away from the bars. Definitely hadn’t imagined _that_. There were approaching footsteps and he closed his eyes, tight, preparing for the worst. After months of torture, he was almost ready for the sweet release of death.

The door opened, creaking loudly. The beasts howled like wolves at the moon, scratching and yelping.

Jaskier still didn’t open his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” a voice said, deep and gravely.

Jaskier thought he had met most of the men but this voice was undeniably _new_. Curiosity won, in the end. He opened his eyes. There was a man at the front of the room, peering at one of the wilder beasts. His mouth was twisted in disgust.

He was _beautiful_. Long hair, pulled back, and striking eyes. He turned away from the beast, pausing with his eyes on him. Jaskier watched him, unable to look away, as he approached his cage.

“Are you okay?” he asked once he was close enough.

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m alive.” That was the most he could ask for.

*

Geralt was confused, for obvious reasons. There was humanoid beasts, yes, but the man near the back of the room looked _entirely_ human. There were no markings on his skin or fangs or horns. His hair was dark brown, somewhat long and choppy, and his eyes were a brilliant blue, shining even in the darkness of the basement, far from any sunlight. Not to mention, his medallion was still against his chest.

“How are they doing this?” he asked, wondering if he knew.

Apparently he did. “By the door,” he said. “They hired a mage, early on. He performed some kind of ritual. Evidently, we’re all weakened by it.”

Now that he focused, he realized he was right. Even Geralt felt… not _weak_ , but weighed down, unusually heavy. He walked back to the door. He didn’t know what he was looking for at first but he found it fairly quickly. There was an unfamiliar sigil on the ground, drawn with chalk. Frowning, he smudged it with the bottom of his boot.

The beasts responded like, well, _beasts_. They were louder, violently ramming the cages.

“Well, fuck,” he said.

Thankfully most of the beasts, though wild and probably dumb, seemed to know he was helping them. He opened cage after cage, and each beast hesitated for a moment, looking at him oddly, like they didn’t understand what was happening.

Geralt cleared his throat. “ _Go_ ,” he would say, and they would take off, rushing out of the room.

Finally there was only one cage still closed, near the back of the room. He approached it and the man (the beast?) looked up, almost smiling. Geralt knew he could just _ask_. It was well within his rights; he had risked his own arse to save him and all the other beasts.

But there was something, almost a challenge, in his eyes.

Geralt opened the cage.

He watched as the man stepped out, a bit wobbly on his legs. He realized, then, that he was naked. _Hmm_ ing, he shrugged off his cloak. “Here.”

*

Jaskier stared at the offered cloak, heavy and black. He hadn’t worn clothes in so long. Gods, how he had missed them. The Collectors had seen them as nothing more than tools or items, to be sold. Neglecting them, and their needs, was just one of their many tactics to weaken their resolve. He snatched the cloak suddenly and pulled it over his shoulders.

The man blinked at him, lips twitching in amusement.

“What?” he asked sharply. “If you have something to say, or _ask_ , just do it.”

He just grunted in reply, turning away and walking toward the door, still propped open. Jaskier’s skin prickled at the realization that he was _leaving_. Just like that. He pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, stepping forward. Stopping, the man didn’t turn. “You can’t just _leave_ me.”

The man turned, finally. “I can’t?” he asked. “Do you not have somewhere to go?” he continued, shifting on his feet. Jaskier’s eyes caught on his sword, glinting.

Jaskier did, and didn’t. He hadn’t had a home before this, nothing had changed in that regard. He could return to his old life of traveling, on his own. But he was _tired_ of being alone, after months of it. He had been surrounded, yes, but _alone_. There was a difference.

“I do not,” he said, jutting his chin in the air. “Let me come with you.”

*

Geralt almost laughed, smiling nastily. “I prefer to travel alone.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned away and walked out of the room. He heard footsteps behind him as he walked back down the hallway, toward the door.

Stopping, he pulled himself up and out of the basement, back on solid ground, wet grass squishing under his boots. He wondered briefly if the man would need help but when he turned, seconds later, he was already out of the basement, standing a couple feet away.

Geralt _hmm_ ed, looking him up and down. Evidently the sun did nothing to – or for – him.

“Well,” he said finally. “Goodbye.”

Roach was waiting for him just a few yards away, he knew, where he had left her. Turning, he started off in that direction. But something made him stop after a few paces, stilling. Looking back, he noticed the man was still standing there, unmoving. He was staring at the sky, expression oddly blank. Geralt didn’t have to do this. He had already helped him enough.

But his feet were glued to the ground, frozen.

“Hey,” he said roughly. Startling, the man looked at him. “What’s your name? Do you have one?”

He smiled slightly. Outside, his blue eyes were striking, nearly glowing. “Jaskier,” he said. “You?”

“Geralt,” he said, “of Rivia.”

They were both silent after that, for too long.

“Well,” he said finally, sighing heavily. “Are you coming or not?”

*

Jaskier smiled, biting the inside of his cheek, as he followed after him. The man – Geralt – led him through the trees, silent. He startled when he saw a horse, brown and waiting for them.

“Scared of a _horse?_ ” he asked, walking over to her.

Jaskier squared his shoulders. “Obviously not.” He approached the horse, slowly. When the horse didn’t do anything, he placed a hand on her head, near one of her ears. The horse quietly nudged his hand, and he smiled again, scratching behind it.

“Hmm. She doesn’t usually like strangers.”

He shrugged, still scratching behind her ear. “What can I say?” He looked over at him. “I’m likable.”

Unimpressed, he walked around and placed his foot in the stirrup, pulling himself up and over. Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time he had ridden a horse. He had had a bad experience, once, and hadn’t bothered trying again.

Geralt stared down at him, like he was silently debating what to do. “Come on,” he said finally, gruffly.

Jaskier hesitated for a moment before he walked over and copied his movements, foot in the stirrup before pulling himself over. He settled on the back of the horse, legs dangling.

“Does she have a name?” he asked, smirking.

Geralt _hmm_ ed. “Roach,” he said right before taking off without warning. Jaskier nearly fell off, scrambling, before he wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, holding on.

*

Geralt had private plans to travel to the closest town – about five days away – and leave Jaskier there. It was the best course of action. There were _reasons_ he didn’t travel with others.

But life, as he knew, rarely went as planned _or_ expected. Really, things were progressing as expected. Even better, actually. They were making good time. There was just one problem.

He was growing _attached_. Fond of the man that likely wasn’t human, or maybe was. He still didn’t know. He knew that his medallion didn’t react to him but there were exceptions to that. It wasn’t an exact science. Some beasts didn’t activate it, especially some of the more powerful beasts, who could control their power.

Jaskier _seemed_ human, certainly. He bathed with him in streams, shameless of his body, a body that was undeniably human.

(And, perhaps, a little too close to Geralt’s type.)

Geralt had never had a travel companion before, especially one with such vigor. Jaskier was nice, no doubt, and talked a lot, making jokes and asking questions about his life. But he was _also_ a bit of a brat, honest and sharp-tongued.

He talked like a man with centuries of experience. A hint of his true nature, perhaps. Geralt still didn’t ask. He still didn’t know why.

Maybe he didn’t see the point. Maybe he wanted to respect Jaskier’s privacy. Maybe he hoped he would approach the topic himself. Or maybe, as much as he wanted to deny it, he was nervous what his answer would be.

*

Jaskier wondered if he knew. He never said anything, certainly. A witcher, a hunter. He wondered if he had ever met one of his kind before. Lower grades, sure.

“Aren’t you curious?” he asked as they sat around the fire, eating, the stars shining in the sky.

Geralt chewed slowly. “Of course I am,” he said finally, swallowing. “But if you don’t want to tell me, that’s your right.” He looked up. “You have that, now. Freedom. No one can tell you what to do out here, not if you don’t want them to.”

Jaskier smiled slightly. “No one, humans or beasts, truly have freedom. You’re smarter than that.”

There was a pause, a lull in the conversation. “You’re right,” he agreed eventually. “But at the very least you don’t have to answer to me. Respect me, and I’ll do the same.”

He nodded without answering. There was no need. They continued eating, silent except for the crickets in the background.

“I know what you were – _are? –_ planning to do,” he said finally.

He didn’t eat for survival, like humans, but for pleasure, and he was no longer very hungry. There was still meat on his stick. He silently extended it, and Geralt hesitated for a moment before accepting it.

“What do you mean?” he asked roughly, taking a bite out of the meat.

Jaskier smiled, leaning back. “You were planning to abandon me in the first town we stumbled across,” he remarked. It wasn’t a question, somehow.

Geralt wondered briefly if he could read minds. He hated that, especially when Yennefer did it. “Hmm.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, looking up at the sky. He mentally counted the stars. He had gotten what he wanted; company, even if just for a bit. “You’ve already humored me long enough. I know you don’t enjoy my company.”

*

Geralt should’ve taken it: he was offering an out, easy as that. He just had to respond accordingly.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, instantly cursing his own mouth for betraying him.

Jaskier sat up a little straighter. “Oh?” Smiling, he raised his eyebrows. “Are you implying you _do_ enjoy my company?”

He sighed heavily, taking another bite of meat, deliberately chewing slowly. “It’s… _different_ ,” he answered finally, swallowing. “Not being alone. I’d – I’d forgotten what it was like, traveling with another person.”

Jaskier nodded, biting his bottom lip. He was no longer just wearing his cloak, but one of Geralt’s shirts and a pair of his trousers, both baggy on him. Geralt looked down, picking at what was left of the meat.

“And what _is_ it like?” he asked, surprisingly gentle.

That was a loaded question. Geralt looked into the fire, popping the last of the meat in his mouth. “It’s just different,” he said, thinking. “Not sleeping alone. Bathing with someone else.” He almost smiled, lips twitching. “ _Eating_ with someone else.”

“And what do you think?” he asked, still just as gentle. “The differences. Are they good or bad?”

Geralt tilted his head back and forth. “So-so.”

Jaskier barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. Geralt watched him as he laughed, trembling with it and clutching his stomach. He was beautiful. The thought was surprising, and not. He had known he was attracted to the man since the beginning.

He wasn’t _blind_.

But he had no intentions of doing anything about it.

Finally, once he had calmed down, he wiped at his eyes. “You are an interesting man, Geralt.”

Geralt had certainly been called worse. “Still want to travel with me?” he asked, unexpectedly stiff as he waited for an answer. He shouldn’t be doing it, allowing someone else to travel with him. It was dangerous and selfish.

Jaskier smiled, eyes alight with joy. “Yes,” he answered after a few beats. “But I should probably get my own horse, don’t you think?”

Things progressed naturally after that. Well, as naturally as they could, considering this was all new to him.

They stopped in town, searched for a horse that Jaskier was satisfied with. He was surprisingly picky. Finally, after searching for two whole days, he found one: a white horse with black spots, tall and sturdy. He rushed to him, grinning wildly.

“This one,” he said. To Geralt or the seller, who knew.

Geralt walked over, an amused curl to his lips. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he replied brightly without looking.

Shrugging, he paid for the horse. A good deal, really, for such a sturdy one. On their way out of the market, he asked Jaskier about naming him.

“Pegasus,” he said instantly.

Geralt arched an eyebrow. “That was fast.”

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes sparkling. “I’ve been thinking about – ” He stopped suddenly. His eyes widened a bit. Geralt blinked, frowning a little, as he turned and followed his line of sight. There was a stall, a few feet away, selling instruments.

*

Jaskier hadn’t had many interests over the centuries. He had tried new things, often, but none of them stuck. Well, except for _one_ thing. His fingers twitched, remembering the feeling of cords under his fingertips.

“What is it?” he heard through the rushing in his ears.

Before he had been kidnapped, he had owned a lute, etched with dandelions. But he assumed they had trashed it soon after kidnapping him. Or, who knows, maybe they had even sold it. But there, just a few feet away, was a lute, etched with dandelions.

“That’s – that’s mine,” he stammered as he approached the stall. “The lute.”

Geralt approached him. “Which one?”

Jaskier didn’t even look at him, just advanced slowly. “The – the dandelions.”

“Huh.”

Then his view of the stall was blocked as Geralt stepped in front of him. He bristled, about to say something, when he heard, “How much?”

Jaskier stepped to the side, watching as Geralt conversed with the seller, a middle-aged man.

Before he knew it, he was being handed the lute. Jaskier cradled it against his chest, wide-eyed. “You – you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he replied simply, turning away. “Come on.”

*

They continued to travel together, after that. For months, almost a year. Jaskier never confided in him about his true nature, and he never asked again. There was no point.

Jaskier was, well, _Jaskier_. He was funny, and annoying, and honest, and surprisingly bratty. He made him feel… _human_. It was terrifying, and freeing.

“You should’ve stayed back at the inn,” he said without looking back.

Jaskier followed him through the woods, stars in the sky. Jaskier was _insistent_ on following him on hunts, despite the dangers. Geralt had tried talking him out of it, many times, but he was annoyingly stubborn. When he asked, early on, _why_ he insisted on following him, he simply smiled and said, “I can’t keep you safe if I’m back at the inn, can I?”

“Uh huh,” he replied, still not looking. It was supposed to be an easy job, at least. As easy as a rampant werewolf can be. He stopped suddenly and Jaskier barely stopped himself before he slammed into his back. “Shh. Listen.”

The crunch of leaves. A twig snapping.

“Go,” he said, nodding curtly toward the trees. “Hide somewhere.” Jaskier hesitated. “Just do it.”

Sighing, he turned and rushed toward the trees, ducking behind one. Satisfied, Geralt took a deep breath, focusing. They were advancing, quickly. Finally, from the darkness, something that was decidedly _not_ a werewolf emerged, equally as hairy and looming over him.

Cursing, he jumped back a few feet and unsheathed his sword, steeling himself.

Humans had a terrible habit of misidentifying monsters.

Hoping Jaskier would fucking _listen_ for once, and stay hidden, he charged the beast.

Unfortunately, the beast was strong. Stronger than a werewolf, certainly, knocking him off his feet and through the air. He landed on his back with a _thud,_ sword spinning away from him and stopping a few feet away.

The beast jumped on him, roaring, and he raised his hand, fingers twisting in a familiar symbol. Before he could finish, the beast was roughly pushed off him.

Geralt blinked, frozen in shock for a split-second, before he quickly sat up. The beast was across the clearing, facing off with…

“Jaskier?” he breathed, standing up.

It was phrased as a question, had to be, because that thing looked nothing like him. His ears had elongated, veins visible in the thin skin. His mouth was wide, open and flashing rows of sharp teeth. His eyes were red, the same shade of the wings extending from both sides of his body.

He looked like a bat. He looked like –

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered as Jaskier faced off with the beast. He was fast, too fast for even his eyes. He danced around the beast, kicking off from trees, slashing at the beast.

Finally, he slashed the beast’s neck, blood pouring. The beast fell with a final roar. Jaskier landed softly, silently. His back was turned toward Geralt.

“Jaskier,” he said, approaching slowly. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Slowly, he turned, wings flat against his sides.

Geralt approached him without hesitation. “You’re – you’re a vampire,” he stammered, eyes flickering over his form like he couldn’t quite believe it. Vampires weren’t rare, but _higher_ vampires were. A lot of witchers went their whole lives without encountering one. He was shocked, and impressed, and couldn’t stop staring. “A _higher_ vampire.”

Jaskier shifted back, though not all the way.

*

He had intended to never show Geralt _this_ part of him. Ugly, disgusting, unlovable. He had heard it all. He was a monster. He could look human, for even centuries, but he would never truly _be_ human.

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” he asked even as he smiled, lips curling. “My truest form.”

Geralt stepped even closer. He didn’t even reply, just cupped the side of his face. His teeth were shorter, now, but no less sharp.

“Now you understand, don’t you?” he continued. “Why they wanted me.”

Geralt thumbed at the side of his mouth, all but admiring his teeth. “They would’ve made a fortune off of you,” he said, knowing that much.

“Understatement,” he replied quietly. “They were waiting. They already had a buyer. They were interested in extracting all my teeth, and that was just the beginning of it. If you had waited… just a few days, I might’ve been…”

Not dead, certainly. Or, well, _deader_.

Killing a higher vampire was almost impossible, but he would’ve wished for death. The real kind, after all that pain and torture. Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“You _saved_ me,” he whispered.

Geralt frowned suddenly, pulling his hand back. Jaskier immediately missed the warmth of his touch, barely stopping himself from chasing it. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, perfectly even, “as some form of thanks.”

Jaskier blinked at him, not understanding. “Do _what?”_

“Travel with me,” he replied instantly, still frowning. “You don’t _owe_ me anything.”

Jaskier stepped forward. “Okay, what, _no_.” He grabbed Geralt’s arm, squeezing. “That has nothing to do with this, with – with _us_.” Geralt looked away, clenching his jaw. Jaskier needed him to understand. This was a moment that truly matted, and he needed to tread carefully. “I was a lot like you, before. Don’t get me wrong, I had fun and I slept around, but… I never traveled long with another person. And – and when I did, when I tried to open up, they caught a glimpse of the real me and they ran the other way. But you, Geralt, you’re different. You _understand_.”

“And that’s why you’re still here?” he asked gruffly. “Because I understand?”

Jaskier smiled slightly, running his tongue over his teeth, still sharp. “Not exactly,” he answered, thinking of their last few months together. “I’m still here because I _like_ you, Geralt.”

*

Geralt stiffened, shoulders hunching up to his ears. He stared at the beast’s fallen body. Being honest, and open, wasn’t easy for him. Growing up, he had been taught to do the exact opposite. _Don’t bother with feelings,_ they said, _they’ll only slow you down._

But there was no denying he felt something for the other man, the _vampire_.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Jaskier’s hands were cold on his arm. “How do you know it’s _real?_ ” he asked finally, opening them. “What you feel?”

Jaskier tugged on his arm, and he looked at him. “I know because they are _my_ feelings,” he said sharply. “You cannot tell me what I feel, and if it’s real or not. That is for _me_ to decide.” Stubborn as always. “And I am telling you what I feel, for you, in this moment, is real.”

Geralt stared at him, unblinking. “You could do anything,” he said. Higher vampires were nearly unstoppable. If Jaskier put his mind to it, especially with his stubbornness, he could probably accomplish anything and _everything_.

But here he was, implying all he wanted was to keep traveling with him. It made no sense. How could he have all that power and want to do nothing with it?

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?” he asked with an amused quirk of his lips.

Geralt held his head a little higher. “No,” he said honestly. “But – ”

“Stop talking,” he interrupted breezily with a grin, showcasing dozens of sharp, shining teeth. “I understand your confusion, but I have the feeling you always knew I was a bit of an odd case. What I want is this, simply this. If you don’t want me to follow you any further, use your words. Otherwise,” he paused, eyes bright, “you are stuck with me.”

Jaskier, beautiful and powerful. Jaskier, who made him feel human. All the best parts of being human.

“I want you with me,” he said, around the sizable lump in his throat, “but only by your choice.”

Jaskier reached up with a hand, brushing a thumb over Geralt’s eyebrow. When he pulled his hand away, the pad of his thumb was wet with fresh blood. Geralt watched, with bated breath, as he sucked it off his thumb and smiled slyly. Then, in the blink of an eye, he looked entirely human again. Geralt knew, by the rumors and information he had gathered over the years, that they didn’t need blood for survival but that it was more like… _alcohol_ to them, visible in the darkening of Jaskier’s eyes. “I made my choice long ago."


End file.
